


Well of the Dark Side

by flamethrower



Series: Re-Entry: Journey of the Whills [40]
Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Episode I: The Phantom Menace
Genre: Alternate Universe, Angst, F/F, F/M, GFY, M/M, References to Canon, This Is Why We Can't Have Nice Things, Trials
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-20
Updated: 2015-03-20
Packaged: 2018-03-18 17:39:01
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 18,324
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3578160
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/flamethrower/pseuds/flamethrower
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"It’s the Mortis equivalent to the Chamber of Trial.  The only way out is to go forward."</p>
            </blockquote>





	Well of the Dark Side

**Author's Note:**

> Soooo some of you may have noticed that I am way behind on most things. Yay college! I will probably catch up on comments over spring break, but feel free to talk at me in the meantime, it means a lot. <3 I had this done last week, but I'm glad I didn't post it right away, since a couple of new scenes went into it at the last minute.
> 
> Beta credit: Merry Amelie & Norcumi, + Dogmatix gave it the emotional comb-over, and Writestufflee said something incoherent, it was hard to tell over the shrieking.

Republic Date 5201: 4/30th

The _Speckled Band,_ hyperspace

 

Qui-Gon was watching Anakin and Rillian spar when Venge came into the cargo hold and sat down beside him. “Done pacing the ship, are we?”

“I am running out of ship to pace,” Venge replied in a grating voice. “I’m thinking of pacing the ceiling next.”

“Wait until night cycle, so that most of the crew is abed and won’t notice your refusal to acknowledge gravity,” Qui-Gon suggested. He turned and looked at his mate, pained by what he saw. Venge’s eyes were glittering with fever, the ever-present burn of Fire. His features were too sharp, even with the assistance of Force Illusion, and there was a muscle ticking under his eye.

“How are you doing?”

Venge swallowed. “Not as well as I’d hoped. It is only the end of the first day, and I am ready to tear down the walls.”

“The expression is ‘climbing the walls,’” Qui-Gon said.

Venge’s lips curled in a faint smile of acknowledgement. “Not right now, it isn’t.”

They turned their attention back to the spar. Rillian had Anakin on the run, or at least thought she did. Qui-Gon was almost certain that the boy was leading her into a complicated feint.

The feint was almost a complete success; Rillian noticed the problem when Anakin had almost finished the move that would have tagged her out. She leaped over the blade’s sweep and hurled herself backwards through the air.

“That was an impressive mid-air turn,” Venge said, loud enough that Rillian would hear.

She grinned at him, her eyes shining with pride. [Thank you, Master. The difficulty will come in being able to do that when I’m fully grown.]

“I’m almost two meters tall, Rillian,” Qui-Gon said, frowning. “You’ll manage.”

“Dammit, Rill!” Anakin was laughing, already making his way back over to where the Wookiee was waiting, both of her lightsabers in guard position. “Let me tag you out, I want dinner!”

[Earn it,] Rillian rumbled, smug.

Venge was resting his chin on his clasped hands. “They are still such purists in how they spar,” he murmured. “It could almost be an allegory for innocence.”

“It could,” Qui-Gon allowed, keeping his eyes on his Padawan’s progress. Rillian was already an excellent duelist because of her work with her Masters and fellow Padawan, but there was potential for absolute greatness in her every move. “It’s too bad that reality had to intrude.”

“Or perhaps I should realize that not everyone is required to fight in whatever fashion is necessary to win,” Venge said, surprising him. “That method does have its downsides.”

Qui-Gon nodded. “Consistent injury.”

Venge was smiling. “Quite. Mixed form has its uses, but sometimes you can be in the middle of the fight and forget that the enemy you face does not have the same sort of weaknesses as others.”

“Ah, the voice of experience.” Qui-Gon smiled back. “What did you do?” he asked, while keeping one eye on Rillian. If Anakin missed that tell, she was going to win the match.

“Tried to kick Grievous’s legs out from under him.” Venge’s expression was rueful, distant amusement. “Damned near snapped my shinbone in half.”

“What in the Force possessed you to do something like that?”

Anakin swore again; Rillian crowed her victory, both arms raised.

“A strong desire not to be killed,” Venge said, and then nodded at the Padawans. “You missed the tell, Anakin.”

Anakin made a face. “Yeah, I know.”

“It was still well-fought,” he said, and glanced at Rillian. “Nicely done.”

[Master taught me,] Rillian said, with another bright, wide smile for Qui-Gon. [He says that the next time I spar with you, I need to know how to be as sneaky as possible.]

“I look forward to it,” Venge said, uncurling from his place on the floor and standing up. Qui-Gon did so as well, noting the slight wobble to Venge’s stance. There was no point in saying anything, but it would bear watching.

“Food now, yes?” Anakin asked. “I’m starved, and they actually have a galley on this tub!” Rillian woofed her agreement of food’s importance.

Venge waved them off. “Go on. We’ll catch up.”

“Try and burn off the rest of the spar hype before you get to the dinner table,” Qui-Gon advised the Padawans. They both nodded and bolted, with a quick elbow jostle for prime position as they tried to get through the door at the same time.

Venge had a sad smile on his face. “She is so good for him.”

“And vice versa, love,” Qui-Gon said, refusing to let his mate drift down into melancholy. “Shall we?”

Venge’s smile faded. “Not without a visit to the Healers first.”

Qui-Gon felt a stir of alarm. “What’s wrong?”

“Don’t know,” Venge said, resting his hand against his chest, fingers digging into his sternum. “But something’s not right.”

Qui-Gon watched as Venge’s face abruptly lost color, his skin greying out. “No, something is not right at all.”

Venge smiled, amused by the edge of sarcasm lacing Qui-Gon’s voice. Then he bent over and vomited a terrifying amount of bright red blood onto the decking plates before his body crumpled.

Qui-Gon caught Venge before he could hit the floor, heart in his throat. _Abella!_ he shouted. It was a panicked send, too loud, but he didn’t care. Venge’s eyes were closed, his breathing stressed and wet-sounding. Even more distressing was the constant stream of blood from his mouth and nose. Qui-Gon knelt on the floor, holding Venge in a position so that the blood could drain, keeping it from filling his lungs and drowning him.

Abella appeared so quickly that Qui-Gon suspected teleportation. “Oh,” she whispered, and then ran for them, dropping down and sliding across the floor on her knees to make the last few steps. She put her hand on Venge’s chest and swore a long, vicious litany in her species’ language. “Zarin!”

The Bothan Healer joined them, his passage just as swift as Abella’s. “Yeah, that’s a board carry,” he said, and stretched out the portable board until it was extended to its full length.   “On his side, head lifted up,” he instructed.

It was a daunting prospect, getting Venge onto the board without making his breathing worse. His head was pillowed on a tunic that Zarin Har sacrificed; the cloth quickly turned red. “When did he pass out?” Abella asked, her hand glowing with its own light as she rested it on Venge’s chest.

Qui-Gon was holding onto his calm with both hands digging in. The Healers were being professional, yes, but they were also borderline panicked. “The moment the bleeding presented itself.”

“Fast bleed,” Abella muttered. “Okay, let’s go. We need to get the bleeding under control long enough to stuff him into the ship’s bacta tank.”

Later, Qui-Gon left the medbay and slid down the wall just outside the door until he was sitting on his rear, one knee cocked and his other leg stretched out across the passageway. The Padawans had ducked in at the start, long enough for Qui-Gon to give them a nod—half reassurance, half promise to tell them what had happened after the emergency had passed. His hands were red, his arms and sleeves bloody up to his elbows.

He was wiping ineffectually at the stains when Abella came out and sat down on the floor opposite him. “Won’t work,” she said in a tired voice. Her hands were a dull, dark brown from blood soaking into fur. “You’re going to have to scrub in the shower to get that off. Maybe rinse with a peroxide solution, too.”

Qui-Gon gave up it up as a lost cause, knowing Abella was right. “How close was this?”

Abella was blunt. “Very. Mortis is pretty much our only option now, Master Qui-Gon. He won’t make it back to a carbon-freeze facility.”

The words chilled him, even though they were not unexpected. “And yet, you do not seem worried.”

“Oh, I am.” Abella sighed and crossed her arms over her stomach. “But this was no mad dash, this trip. Obi being told to go to Mortis was a sending from the Force. I choose to place my faith in the Force in everything I do, and I’m not about to stop now.”

She gave him a sympathetic look. “I know it’s hard to believe in such things when you’re wearing so much of your mate’s blood. Don’t give up; he isn’t. He’s been fighting Fire’s ravages for months now, and he doesn’t want to die. Have faith in Obi-Wan’s stubbornness, at the very least.”

Qui-Gon smiled, even though it must have been a weary expression. “I do, Abella. I would be doing him a great disservice to believe otherwise.”

 

*          *          *          *

 

_“All is lost. The balance has been broken.”_

 

*          *          *          *

 

Republic Date 5201: 5/2nd

Mortis

 

The path out of the cavern was just as treacherous as it had been the first time, though this time his concern was falling backwards if he forgot the steep slope of the path. It was also a test of endurance; Qui-Gon was breathing hard, the muscles in his legs burning, by the time he stepped out of the tunnel mouth. He was in excellent physical condition by Jedi standards, but he knew when he’d been all but beaten by rough terrain.

The sky overhead was still dark, but fewer stars showed. Dawn was happening somewhere off to the west, painting the horizon in a pale violet glow.

_Qui-Gon!_

Qui-Gon jerked upright, fatigue all but forgotten. _Obi-Wan?_

_All right, I can find you now, just keep—_

_Keep what?_ Qui-Gon asked, but then Obi-Wan appeared in front of him, not quite in touching distance. His boots slipped on the rock before he recovered his balance.

Obi-Wan smiled. “There you are,” he said, though his expression faltered when Qui-Gon did nothing more than stare at him. “What?”

It was Obi-Wan he was staring at, not Venge, and yet things still weren’t right. Obi-Wan’s hair was long in the front but cut short in the back, and was bleached almost blond by sunlight. His beard was a darker red, but still as blond-streaked as his hair.

The last time he’d seen his mate, perhaps an hour ago, Venge had been shock pale and beardless, his eyes still burning with Fire. This man’s eyes were not amber, but silver.

“Qui?”

Qui-Gon swallowed and found his voice. “Prove that it’s you.”

Obi-Wan blinked and reared back, as if baffled by the request. Then the confusion lifted from his face, replaced by understanding…and what looked like a flash of sorrow.

“Right, sorry,” he said, and in the next moment Venge’s ironclad shields over the Lifebond vanished.

Qui-Gon gasped and almost hit his knees from the sudden shock—would have, if Obi-Wan hadn’t darted forward into his arms. “Qui-Gon!”

“Oh, _gods_ ,” he whispered, embracing his beloved mate before all but lifting Obi-Wan off the ground. Obi-Wan was holding on just as tightly, fisting handfuls of Qui-Gon’s tunics as they tried to climb into each other’s skin.

 _I am really sorry, I am, it really is me,_ Obi-Wan was saying. _Oh, gods, but I missed you._

Qui-Gon lowered Obi-Wan until his boots touched rock again, and then put his hands on Obi-Wan’s shoulders. He could tell that weight and muscle tone were returning just from touch alone, even if Obi-Wan was not quite back to where he had been before Fire. The color had been all but washed from his eyes; they were ringed with the faintest halo of blue, a tiny splash of green lingering in his left eye.

“What the hell _happened?_ ” Qui-Gon asked, astonishment replacing shock. “You look like—like I’ve not seen you for weeks!”

“A month, actually,” Obi-Wan said, a corner of his mouth drawing up in a crooked smile. “And it only just occurs to me that I have no idea how to even begin explaining that.”

“Short version,” Qui-Gon said, unable to stop running his hands across Obi-Wan’s shoulders, down his arms. The twin lightsabers he’d built on Entrios still hung at his belt, but all that remained of the layered tunics he’d been wearing a mere hour ago was the long-sleeved brown shirt. He could feel the blade-loaded wrist sheath still in place on Obi-Wan’s left arm, hidden from sight by cloth, but otherwise he didn’t seem to be carrying any other knives at all. It was, after months of Venge and razor-edged blades, as startling a change as all the others.

“Time travel,” Obi-Wan said, and then grinned at Qui-Gon’s confused look. “I told you, it’s complicated.”

Qui-Gon lifted his hands and cupped Obi-Wan’s face. The beard was not soft, not when the bristle was trimmed so short, but the texture was fascinating. “Long version later, then?”

“Absolutely,” Obi-Wan agreed, lips parting just before their mouths met. Qui-Gon sighed into the kiss, feeling the return of a peaceful equilibrium that had been missing for months now. Obi-Wan’s lips were warm and soft, and his mate wrapped his arms around Qui-Gon’s neck and tucked in close. Aside from a strange tang of salt, Obi-Wan tasted and smelled _right_ —there was nothing left of bitter metal, copper, or sparking electricity.

“Better?” Obi-Wan asked in a soft voice when they finally broke apart.

“Much,” Qui-Gon replied, still letting his fingers drift along the lines of beard, and the new bristle framing Obi-Wan’s beautiful mouth. “It’s been a long time since I’ve kissed a bearded man. I’d forgotten how pleasant it was.”

There was a strange expression on Obi-Wan’s face, there and gone so fast that Qui-Gon almost missed it. “Oh, that’s going to be fun to explain, too,” Obi-Wan said, shaking his head. “Just—yes, long explanations later.”

“I have just one more question,” Qui-Gon said. “Your eyes, Obi-Wan. What happened to them?”

“Seventy-four days of Fire, Qui-Gon,” Obi-Wan answered. He smiled again, but a lot of the mirth had bled out of his face. “Caustic energy burn is a grand bleach. I’m lucky my hair isn’t white, too.”

Qui-Gon flinched before he could stop himself. “Fortunate indeed.”

“What?” Obi-Wan’s brow drew together in concern. “What is it?”

“Something else that can wait for later,” Qui-Gon said, uncertain he knew how to broach the topic. He had a feeling that they both had similarly unbelievable stories to tell.

Obi-Wan nodded. “Fair enough. Let’s go get Rillian,” he said, and took Qui-Gon’s hand. “I’m warning you, because you don’t like to be whisked about unannounced.”

“Warn me?”

Obi-Wan’s eyes glimmered with mischief. “Hold on,” he said, and then they were somewhere else.

Qui-Gon dropped Obi-Wan’s hand and stepped back a few feet in shock as he took in their new surroundings. “That was just like—how did you do that?”

“Just like before? Well, we were being moved around like fucking chess pieces before,” Obi-Wan said. There was a flash of gold in his eyes that made Qui-Gon’s breath catch.

“And now?” Qui-Gon hadn’t felt anything like Venge’s flares of acrid temper, but had no idea what the shift in color meant.

“And now…” Obi-Wan smiled. “It’s a wellspring, Qui. The entire planet is a wellspring.”

“A nexus of the Force,” Qui-Gon repeated, remembering what he’d been told in the cave. “A nexus of _everything._ ”

“Right.” Obi-Wan was gazing at him, head tilted. The gesture was so very like Venge, yet without the biting edge. “How did you know?”

“Someone told me,” Qui-Gon said, trying to ignore the flutter of nerves in his stomach. “Recently.”

[Master!]

They both turned to see Rillian, running down the steps of the massive structure—the temple she’d been placed in front of during their initial separation. Qui-Gon could feel waves of upset emanating from his Padawan, a chaotic upswell of grief that only lessened when she caught sight of Obi-Wan.

[Master Obi-Wan!] she howled, skidding to a stop before she barreled either of them over. [Force, it is so good to see you both.]

Qui-Gon received Rillian’s first hug, but he suspected it was only deference to her Master that kept Rillian from flinging herself at Obi-Wan. [Oh, I’m so glad to see you,] she said, her howling words uneven and high-pitched with anxiety. [I don’t like this place, and I’m quite ready to go _home_.]

“Are you all right?” Qui-Gon asked, putting his hands on her shoulders, stepping back just enough so he could look at her properly. “You’ve not been harmed?”

Rillian shook her head. [No, I’m not hurt,] she said, sniffling. [Just sad. And you are, too,] she said, giving him a quizzical, concerned look.

“I am,” Qui-Gon admitted, forcing the words past a throat suddenly gone tight. Her obvious upset was reminding him very much of his own recent grief. “But I’ll be all right, Padawan.”

Obi-Wan was staring at the great temple, his eyes haunted. [Master Obi-Wan?] Rillian ventured.

[How do you feel after your journey into the Temple of Song, young one?] Obi-Wan asked her in Shyriiwook, the human-inflected howls mournful in tone.

[Sad,] Rillian said, gazing at him in dismay. [Afraid. Confused, too.]

[I would not be able to bear going in there,] Obi-Wan said, his voice softer still. [I have too much grief in my heart.]

Rillian made a sound close to a sob and darted into the circle of Obi-Wan’s arms. Obi-Wan held her, his eyes squeezed shut, as if he couldn’t bear the sight of the temple any longer.

“What’s in there?” Qui-Gon asked. He didn’t sense anything wrong with the structure, but there was also an intense hush from within, one that reminded him of the Chamber of Trial. He’d never been inside it, himself, but he’d seen others approach, swallowed up by that same hush until there was nothing to be seen of them until the Trial was done.

“Everything that you take with you,” Obi-Wan said. “And sometimes, things that you did not.”

[What happened to your eyes, Master?] Rillian asked, her own eyes widening in sudden recognition of Obi-Wan’s altered appearance. [And you smell better, and—why do you smell like an _ocean?_ ]

“All very good questions, but since I don’t want to repeat the answers more than necessary, let it wait a few minutes, all right?” When Rillian nodded, Obi-Wan held out his hands—one for Rillian, and one for Qui-Gon.

Obi-Wan warned them again, which made Rillian scrunch up her nose in confusion, and then they had left the temple behind. The transition was so smooth that Qui-Gon didn’t even feel the ground shift beneath his feet until the new texture presented itself. He was standing in soft sand, and the smell of the ocean, close and sharp and strong, was in his nose; a breeze started pulling at his hair.

Wherever they were, it was already late morning, or perhaps afternoon. Rillian whirled around in a circle, delighted by the utterly still water that touched the shoreline, howling curiosity at the stone steps. Qui-Gon felt life and strength, the great waiting potential of a wellspring. It helped to temper the intensity of immense, lurking age that emanated from the stone, and from the structure he could see beyond the stairs.

All of it was so familiar that it was making his skin crawl.

[There are people here,] Rillian announced, and began to climb the stairs with an air of excitement.

“It’s safe, don’t worry,” Obi-Wan said, catching Qui-Gon’s hand before he could advise caution. “Come on.”

With every stair they climbed, the sense of familiarity grew stronger, until he was all but crushing Obi-Wan’s hand in a nervous grip. “Obi-Wan, what is this place?”

“The heart of the wellspring,” Obi-Wan said, wiggling his fingers until Qui-Gon recalled himself and lessened his hold. “You know it, don’t you?”

“I’ve never been here before!” Qui-Gon protested in a hushed whisper, aware now of the people that Rillian must have sensed or scented.

“I told you it was going to be difficult to explain.”

At the top of the stairs, two individuals were waiting for them. Rillian had thrown herself into the female’s arms. It took Qui-Gon a second of bewildered mental processing to recognize Master Healer Ra’um-Ve.

[You look great! And solid! And great!] Rillian proclaimed, which put a wide smile on the Healer’s face.

“Qui.” Obi-Wan directed Qui-Gon’s attention to Ra’um-Ve’s companion. He was human, several centimeters shorter than Obi-Wan, and had pale brown hair and vivid blue eyes that matched the shirt he was wearing.

“You’re already known to him, but this is Ulic Qel-Droma.” Before Qui-Gon could say a word, Obi-Wan leveled a glare on Qel-Droma that could have burned through duracrete. “And _you_ are going to be nice.”

Qel-Droma raised both hands defensively. “Shaman’s honor, I will not be an asshole.”

Qui-Gon looked back and forth between Qel-Droma and Ra’um-Ve, who was resting her arm across Rillian’s shoulders. They were both solid, as real and alive as he and Obi-Wan, but he knew for a fact that they were both dead—he’d seen the recording of Ra’um-Ve’s discorporation.

Nexus.

Wellspring.

“Fucking hell,” Qui-Gon breathed. “You’ve spent the last month here, hanging out with ghosts.”

Obi-Wan was biting his lip; it was Qel-Droma who barked out a laugh. “Kid, you’re telling me to be nice, but what am I supposed to do with openings like that?”

“You will keep being nice, or I will punt your dead ass through another wall,” Obi-Wan returned in a pleasant voice. “You owe me, Ulic.” Then he turned back to Qui-Gon. “I have to go get Anakin. I should be back in a few minutes.”

“Wait.” Qui-Gon seized Obi-Wan’s hand before he could vanish. If he teleported at this point, he was going to have a passenger.

“What?” Obi-Wan asked, and then his eyes widened as Qui-Gon used his free hand to yank the cord around his neck free, pulling their joined wedding rings out from beneath the protective layer of his tunics. “Oh. Yes. That.”

“Fix this. Please,” Qui-Gon said. “I don’t want this reminder any longer.”

Obi-Wan’s eyes changed color again, flaring a bright, clear gold that had none of Fire’s smoldering rage. “No, I suppose that will not do at all.”

Obi-Wan took the cord from him, sliding the rings off the leather before holding up the joined bands. “Damn, but I was in a mood,” he muttered under his breath, and then cupped the rings in his closed hands. He had a frown of concentration on his face, one that gradually smoothed out as the Force seemed to wash up and around them. Qui-Gon could see nothing, but it felt like being enshrouded by a soothing mist.

[Wow,] Rillian said. [That’s so pretty.]

Obi-Wan opened his hands, revealing the two separated bands. The river stone that wrapped the outside of each circle were still shining with a red-gold glow. “Better, yes?”

“Much,” Qui-Gon said, picking them both up. The energy residue left in stone and metal was so intense that it was vibrating in his bones. He quickly shoved his own ring onto his finger, grabbing at Obi-Wan’s hand before he could back away. “Hold still,” he ordered, and then slid the second ring onto the middle finger of Obi-Wan’s left hand.

Obi-Wan stared down at the glowing band, his expression undecipherable until he said, “There were quite a few times in the last few months when I thought I was never going to wear this again.”

That made Qui-Gon’s heart clench painfully. There were times when he’d thought that, too, even if he’d refused to dwell on it. “I’m glad you were wrong.”

“So am I. Back in a moment,” Obi-Wan said. It was jarring when Obi-Wan vanished, air rushing in to fill the suddenly vacated space.

Then Obi-Wan appeared again, scowling. “Give me my damned lightsaber.”

Qui-Gon smiled and handed over the item in question. “I thought you might want it back.”

Obi-Wan grasped the hilt, his fingers resting over Qui-Gon’s. He looked up when Qui-Gon didn’t relinquish his grip right away. “I _am_ coming back.”

“I do not doubt it,” Qui-Gon said, dropping his hand. Obi-Wan vanished again after giving Rillian a quick, reassuring glance.

“All right, then,” Qel-Droma said, startling Qui-Gon when the man’s words broke into heavy silence. “You two might as well get comfortable. This is going to take a bit longer than he realizes.”

 

*          *          *          *

 

_You are not running away. You legitimately need to fetch Anakin. You’re not running._

Oh, but he was, a little bit. Obi-Wan was not looking forward to unraveling and explaining the convoluted mess of the last thirty days to his mate—especially given Qui-Gon’s rather dramatic reaction to the heart of the wellspring. His fingers still ached from Qui-Gon’s bruising grip.

Obi-Wan used the collapsed ruin of Isuheel’s monastery to orient himself before teleporting to the site of the Well. Then he swore aloud, a shout that echoed over the rocks. Anakin was nowhere in sight.

He’d gone down into the damned thing.

Obi-Wan glanced over the edge, but he could see nothing except the distant red glow of lava. He’d been down there before, though, long ago, and it was only a thought before he was standing on the black stone island at the Well’s bottom.

He was just in time to see the specter of Vader raising a lightsaber over his Padawan. “We know who the true Master is!”

Obi-Wan’s lightsaber was out and ignited just in time to knock Vader’s blade aside. “Yes, and we all know that it isn’t you.”

The specter hissed at him, a sound nothing like Vader’s mechanical exhalation. “You!”

“Go away,” Obi-Wan growled back, fierce protective anger manifesting as blue sparks in the air between himself and the specter.

He must have been impressive enough. The specter of Vader vanished.

“Master?”

Obi-Wan shut down his lightsaber and turned. Anakin was still on the ground, staring up at him in disbelief. “Hello, Ani.”

“Is that—it’s really you, right? I’m not—it’s not something like _him_?”

Obi-Wan smiled and held out his hand. Anakin accepted the hand up, but cautiously, alert for more tricks from the Well. “Fortunately for us both, yes. You shouldn’t have come down here, Anakin.”

“I kinda figured that out,” Anakin said, biting his lip. “Soooo time travel or something? Pretty sure you didn’t look like that ten minutes ago.”

“I had an interesting month, yes,” Obi-Wan said, just before Anakin darted forward and wrapped his arms around Obi-Wan’s waist.

Obi-Wan sighed and hugged him back. “I missed you, too.”

“You are so explaining this later, but we should leave now,” Anakin said. “This place is awful.”

“It’s a bit too late for that,” Obi-Wan replied, pointing up.

Anakin took in the lack of visible sky above their heads. The Well was no longer deep pit, but enclosed, rocky cavern, its only light provided by the lava surrounding them.

“What the hell, Obi-Wan?”

“It’s the Well of the Dark Side, Anakin.” Obi-Wan put his hand on his little brother’s shoulder. “It’s the Mortis equivalent to the Chamber of Trial. The only way out is to go forward.” He sighed. “You weren’t ready for this, and I didn’t think to warn you away from here.”

Anakin swallowed nervously. “Well, shit. I’ve never even been _in_ the Chamber on Coruscant!”

“Nor have I.” Obi-Wan ran his thumb down the leather that wrapped his lightsaber hilt, staring at the rather obvious path that led out of the lava chamber and into darkness. “There’s a first time for everything, right?”

Anakin stared at the dark pathway. “I don’t want to do this.”

“I know. I don’t want to, either,” Obi-Wan said. “Unfortunately, the only other way out has already been attempted, and it didn’t work.” At least the failed teleport hadn’t given him a headache. “We’re here until the trial ends.”

Anakin lifted his chin and squared his shoulders. “Okay, then I guess whining about it won’t make it not happen. I don’t have my lightsaber, though—I dunno what happened to it. Maybe it’s on the _Band_?”

“Maybe.” Obi-Wan attached his lightsaber to his belt before handing over the twin green blades. “Keep these in the meantime.”

Anakin took the matched black hilts gingerly, as if expecting handfuls of slime. His expression cleared when he sensed no taint from the lightsabers. “Thanks,” he said, setting them in position for a cross draw before looking back up at Obi-Wan. “What should we expect?”

“I was always told that the Trials are based on what you take with you.” Obi-Wan hesitated. “I think every stupid decision we’ve ever made in our lives is about to get thrown back in our faces.”

Anakin was horrified by the prospect. “Falling on our lightsabers would probably be a lot more pleasant.”

“Perhaps.” Obi-Wan held out his hand. Anakin took it, the tips of his fingers cold despite the baking heat from the nearby lava.

“I’m ready.” Anakin managed a genuine smile. “Let’s go.”

They walked forward together, following the rocky path to the tunnel mouth that had appeared in the side of the cavern wall. It was a relief to escape the oppressive heat, but the farther they walked, the darker it got, until Obi-Wan couldn’t see anything at all.

 

*          *          *          *

 

Qel-Droma and Ra’um-Ve invited both Rillian and Qui-Gon to look around the ancient dwelling, though Qel-Droma cautioned them both about the first upstairs room beyond the library. Qui-Gon regarded that closed door for a long moment while Rillian darted ahead, howling in excitement at the revelation of a salle.

 _Who are they?_ The whisper of memory was driving him mad, certain as he was that it was Obi-Wan’s tremulous voice asking the question.

_They’re Jedi. Ancient Jedi._

Qui-Gon turned away from the room and caught up with Rillian, who was pacing up and down the brightly lit space and growling a constant stream of bewildered Shyriiwook as she tried to puzzle out how the room could be larger than the whole of the second floor. The salle didn’t help Qui-Gon’s state of mind; if anything, it increased that maddening hint of familiarity.

“It’s a pocket dimension,” Qui-Gon told Rillian. He was certain he was correct, but he also had no damned idea how he knew that in the first place.

[Neat,] Rillian said. She jumped into the air several times, enjoying the slight bounce to the floor.

They went back downstairs together, though Rillian gave the closed door a curious look. Qui-Gon had glanced through the library already. There was a sheaf of notes on one of the tables with a rock resting on top to keep the pages from blowing away. The page on top of the stack was covered in Obi-Wan’s handwriting. Qui-Gon hadn’t touched any of it, filled with a strange sense of foreboding. He was willing to wait for Obi-Wan’s return to find out what his mate seemed to have been researching.

Rillian went outside, wanting to explore the rest of the small island. Qui-Gon found Qel-Droma and Ra’um-Ve in the home’s sitting area, perched in chairs opposite each other. Qel-Droma was tapping his fingers on the arm of his chair, and Ra’um-Ve was pretending that the nervous gesture wasn’t driving her to distraction.

Qui-Gon regarded the two spirits, who appeared to be just as solid, just as alive, as he was. He understood the nature of wellsprings in a way that most beings did not, so it was not their presence that disturbed him—it was the fact that his presence made them both so uneasy.

“Why do I know this place?”

Qel-Droma glanced up, unsurprised by the abrupt question. “Because you’ve been here before.”

It was an obvious response, given Qui-Gon’s terrible déjà vu, but at the same time it made no sense at all. “When?”

“A long time ago.” Qel-Droma smiled. “Or very recently, depending on your point of view.”

“Don’t be a tease,” Ra’um-Ve said.

Qel-Droma was offended. “I’m not. I’m giving an honest answer to the question that was asked.”

The Healer snorted. “It’s lucky for you that we planned for the more direct approach, Master Jinn.”

“Who’s _we?_ ”

Ra’um-Ve ignored the ancient Jedi. “What he means, Qui-Gon, is that it was a long time ago for you, but for him, and for me, it was very recent.”

“What are you doing here, anyway?” Qui-Gon asked, unsettled by the clarification. It was too close to the conversation he and Obi-Wan had about memory and anchor points while Fire’s intensity burned in Venge’s eyes.

Ra’um-Ve smiled. “Fieff was curious as to why Obi-Wan was suddenly in two places at once, and I followed him.”

“Fieff?” Qui-Gon repeated. He had a disorienting flash of seeing Fieff not as an image seen only on a vid display, but a man standing on the beach outside, barefoot and kicking sand at Ra’um-Ve. The Healer had sworn a blue streak at him before shoving Fieff into the ocean.

“He should be on Ord Varee by now,” Ra’um-Ve explained, though her searching gaze hadn’t left his face. “Grierseer was giving him a spiritual lift home.”

That helped to combat his disquiet with the Healer’s presence. Obi-Wan had told Qui-Gon as much before their departure from Entrios.

Something Ra’um-Ve had seen on his face must have decided her. She reached into the deep pocket of her tunic dress and withdrew a folded sheet, a match for the expensive paper in the library.

“Self-awareness is a glorious thing,” she said cryptically. “This is for you.”

It only took a glance at the folded paper for her words to make sense, even though it only bore his name. “This is in my handwriting.”

“Exactly,” Ra’um-Ve said, standing up. “Come on, Ulic.”

Qel-Droma gave her a suspicious look. “You two did not do what I think you did.”

“You’re just mad because you didn’t think of it first,” Ra’um-Ve retorted. “Come and help me keep that dear Padawan company for a few minutes. If he decides to throw things, I don’t want her to witness it.”

“ _Am_ I going to throw things?” Qui-Gon asked, feeling like he was missing out on far more context than a simple note could provide—even if it was something he had supposedly written himself.

It was Qel-Droma who answered him. “I guess that depends on what you had to say to yourself.”

“Now, Ulic,” Ra’um-Ve said, grabbing his hand and teleporting them both out of the room.

Qui-Gon didn’t look at the note right away. It occurred to him that he could simply destroy the missive, unread, and then dismissed the idea as utter foolishness. He knew his own mind well enough to understand that if he was deigning to _talk to himself_ , then there was a damned good reason for it.

He stepped through the kitchen, glancing at the pile of clean dishes on the countertop. There was a kettle on a flame-based hob, smelling of strong black tea. He entered a small dining room, one that had no windows and no other exit.

 _But you weren’t_ there!

The flash of memory hung in the air as if Qui-Gon had just heard it with his own ears. With it came regret, grief, and a surfeit of guilt.

He read the note twice over. Then he folded it along the original crease while staring at nothing in particular.

Qui-Gon found Ra’um-Ve, Qel-Droma, and Rillian in the courtyard. Rillian was sitting on one of the benches, listening to Qel-Droma talk about something that had occurred on Onderon in his youth. It only took a few overheard words for Qui-Gon to surmise that the mission had been blundered from start to finish.

[Hi, Master!] Rillian chirped, smiling at him. [Master Ulic was just telling me about how he did something stupid.]

“And since I did something stupid quite often, there are so many, many tales I could tell that are all along the same vein,” Qel-Droma said. “Please learn from my mistakes, kiddo.”

[Well, I don’t really plan on starting any galactic wars,] Rillian said, grinning. It should have been surreal, to hear his Padawan tease a myth, but instead it felt distressingly normal.

“Excellent! You’re already several steps ahead of me.” Qel-Droma turned his attention to Qui-Gon. “Oh, I know that expression.”

“So do I,” Ra’um-Ve said, walking over to join Qui-Gon. “You’re sure?”

Qui-Gon nodded. “Yes.”

[What’s going on?] Rillian asked.

“I don’t know, Padawan,” Qui-Gon said. “But I’m almost certain that I’m about to find out.”

 

*          *          *          *

 

Anakin had a brief moment of bewilderment, trying to puzzle out why in the hell he’d chased someone out onto a river of lava. Then the thought was subsumed by Vader’s rage.

Vader did not care about injury or death. Only the defeat of his enemy would soothe what burned him.

The heat was baking his skin, burning his feet within his boots. The shields of the droid he stood upon were barely enough to keep him from being vaporized, but it would be enough. He would survive.

He would be victorious.

Words. Foolish words that made no sense—could not make sense. “From my point of view, the Jedi are evil!”

“Well, then you are _lost!_ ” The rage on his opponent’s face hurt to witness, and he did not understand why. That was unacceptable.

“This is the end for you, my Master.”

No, that could not be right. This was not his Master. Sidious was his Master.

( _What the hell are you doing?_ something within his thoughts shrieked as Vader jumped to the platform that the Jedi—that Obi-Wan—stood upon. _Stop it! Stop it, dammit!_ )

They traded a series of blows that left Vader frustrated when he couldn’t gain the upper hand. Then Obi-Wan escaped him, leaping into the air and landing on the crumbling, rocky hillside.

Vader nudged the platform with the Force, keeping it in front of his quarry. His Master was staring down at him (not his Master, not any longer), anger burning in his eyes but worry still etching his face. “It’s over, Anakin! I have the high ground!”

Tactics. Obi-Wan excelled at those. His terrain gave him an advantage.

He thought it gave him an advantage. Weak fool.

“You underestimate my power.”

 _What? No! Don’t you fucking dare!_ that other voice shouted. _Don’t be stupid!_

Obi-Wan echoed the voice, which only infuriated Vader. “Don’t try it.”

Vader gathered himself for the leap, the moment that would end this foolish game. He took one last look at his former teacher, and only then did he recognize that there was something wrong with this scene.

His Master was not wearing familiar beige tunics. His lightsaber was not pale blue. That was not the face of a man ravaged by years of galactic-scale war.

This wasn’t right.

It was too late—he had already jumped, even as Anakin surged back to the fore and shoved memory aside. He did the only thing he could think to do.

He shut down his lightsaber in mid-air.

The act was going to get him maimed, crippled, just as this foolish leap had before. Anakin didn’t care. He was damned well not doing to do this twice, no matter the outcome.

Anakin had only a second to realize that Obi-Wan hadn’t moved, and he wasn’t holding his lightsaber any longer. Then Anakin crashed into him.

They rolled down the hill in a jumble of limbs. Obi-Wan’s startled swearing cut off mid-rant. Anakin did his level best to keep them from tumbling all the way into the lava. He lashed out with his right hand—cybernetic, stronger, remember and _use it_ —dug into the loose rock, and held on for all he was worth.

It almost didn’t work. Anakin jerked them to a halt far too damn close to the molten river’s edge. Anakin gasped, feeling heat sear his lungs, and looked at his Master.

Obi-Wan was unconscious. A trickle of blood seeped out of a gash on his temple.

Stupid damned rocks. Stupid damned lava. Anakin had just barely managed to keep Obi-Wan from being burnt to a cinder. If he hadn’t managed to dig his fingertips into the earth, they’d both be swimming in molten rock.

Then Obi-Wan’s sleeve caught fire.

“No!” Anakin yelled, and strained muscles in his left arm as he yanked Obi-Wan away from the glowing shoreline. He spent a few panicked seconds pulling Obi-Wan up the hill, patting out flames, and somehow got them both to the top of the rocky slope without really understanding how he'd managed it.

Anakin dropped down onto his ass, rested his arms across his knees, and spent a precious few moments pulling himself together. After he could breathe without panting like a bellows, he said, “What you take with you, my _ass_.”

He looked down at the lava river, which was staying put, as was the hillside, as was the rest of Mustafar.

Anakin glanced at his gloved hand, at the silver buckles that kept the leather covering over his artificial arm in place. The lightsaber he held was not his old silver-handled hilt, but one of the two green-bladed lightsabers Obi-Wan had handed him before they’d gone into the tunnel.

He couldn’t remember what color lightsaber he’d just been fighting with. Vader had been too prominent.

Vader had been _insane._

Anakin carefully walked down the hillside, feeling loose rock shift beneath his feet, and retrieved Obi-Wan’s lightsaber. The hilt was already almost too hot to touch, but at least the circuitry inside wasn’t damaged. He attached it to his belt, where it hung next to the second black lightsaber.

Then he remembered. “Padmé.”

Anakin darted back up the hill, sliding once and having to dig in his toes to keep from falling. He picked up Obi-Wan, having a bad flash of memory about the _Invisible Hand_ when he got the smaller man slung over his shoulders. “Damn, you are always heavier than you look,” Anakin grumbled, and started trudging his way back towards the landing platform.

He never made it. His journey seemed to be the signal the Chamber had been waiting for. Mustafar dissolved, the furnace-like atmosphere dissipating until he was once more standing in the dark, rocky tunnel.

Anakin stood in place, feeling bitter disappointment. Not real, it had not been real. She wouldn’t have been there.

Except…he was still twenty-three. No, wait; maybe he’d been twenty-four?

Shit. He couldn’t remember.

Obi-Wan showed no signs of waking, so Anakin kept going. The tunnel wasn’t pitch black, not like it had been earlier, before they had suddenly been…somewhere else. He couldn’t remember if they had fought that battle all over again, start to finish. He hoped not.

It didn’t take long before he saw a luminescent glow up ahead. It was a comforting sight, one that made him quicken his steps.

He came out in another cavern, one that glowed with pale blue light emitted by tiny creatures and an epic amount of phosphorescent cave moss. There were scattered, mineral-scented pools, revealing themselves by reflection and by the sounds of dripping water.

“I hope nothing in here tries to eat us,” Anakin muttered, easing Obi-Wan down until he had his Master stretched out onto a relatively smooth patch of ground. The cut on his face wasn’t bad, and had stopped bleeding on its own. Anakin rested his left hand on Obi-Wan’s forehead, able to feel the first stirrings of consciousness.

He blew out a long, relieved breath. With that concern out of the way, he turned his attention to the charred mess of Obi-Wan’s sleeve.

Part of the fabric disintegrated at the first touch of Anakin’s fingers. He gingerly pulled the rest back, revealing a stark red burn that covered two-thirds of Obi-Wan’s forearm, one that was already starting to blister.

Anakin checked his belt pouches for supplies and was happy to find a tiny jar of bacta gel. He stared at it for a moment after unscrewing the lid, uncertain if it was the old standard from a wartime med kit, or the new supply the Order had begun issuing as standard equipment in the last three months.

_Whatever. As long as it works._

The first application of bacta had Obi-Wan hissing in a pained breath. “Easy,” Anakin murmured, feeling a guilty twinge when Obi-Wan’s arm jerked as he tried to spread the goop over blistering skin. Anakin’s fingers bumped against what had to be the flex-pad comm in camouflage mode, but it didn’t seem to be damaged. He took it off and was glad to see that it had protected the skin underneath, too.

Obi-Wan lifted his head to see what Anakin was doing, and then dropped back down with a groan. “What the fuck happened?”

Anakin still didn’t know why Obi-Wan’s eyes were silver, but at the moment, it was reassuring—proof that this really was his Master, and not some Well-created stand-in. The Well would have given him a match for Venge, or Obi-Wan before Fire, or maybe even his Master’s appearance during Order 66.

“We almost wound up taking a lava bath.”

“That would have been a shoddy way to end a Trial,” Obi-Wan muttered, as Anakin finished the bacta application. “Thank you.”

Anakin nodded, regarding the burn and trying to decide if a bandage would do more harm than good. Granted, they didn’t have any bandages, and his tunics weren’t exactly clean at the moment. “Are you all right?”

Obi-Wan sat up, wincing and touching his head. “I will be.” He waited patiently while Anakin smeared the last bit of bacta gel over the cut on his temple, and then gave Anakin an odd look. “Why are you so damned tall?”

“Dunno,” Anakin said, putting the jar back in his belt pouch. “I haven’t really had time to think about it. Maybe it’s some weird side effect of the Well?”

“Maybe,” Obi-Wan allowed. He didn’t seem to know what to do about Anakin’s regained maturity.

Well, that made two of them.

“When did you realize that it wasn’t really Mustafar?” Obi-Wan asked.

“Oh, about five seconds too late not to make a stupid decision,” Anakin said ruefully. “Or, well, for Vader to make one.” He swallowed, the enormity of what had just happened striking him all at once. “Fuck, Obi-Wan. I didn’t even—he didn’t—he barely knew _who you_ _were_.”

Obi-Wan put his hand on Anakin’s left arm. “It was that bad?”

Anakin had to grit his teeth and collect himself. “I’ve never…I didn’t remember Mustafar very well, not before. Obi-Wan, it was like I was trapped in my own head and screaming. I didn’t want to. I didn’t want…” Anakin swallowed. “You were right. It really was like being two people. I’m so sorry, I should have been able to—”

“Anakin.” Obi-Wan gripped his hand. “I should have known that something was wrong. The man I trained would never have been fool enough to make that leap, not after Geonosis.” He sighed. “I should have suspected it the moment you hurt her.”

“You didn’t—I mean, you couldn’t have known!”

Obi-Wan gave him a look of patient understanding.

Anakin knew what Obi-Wan was trying to say, and he got it, but he didn’t want to admit it out loud yet. Maybe when the memory was a bit less fresh, and their clothes were not singed and burnt.

“When did _you_ realize it wasn’t really Mustafar?”

There was a noticeable pause. “I didn’t.”

Anakin stared at him, wide-eyed. “Obi-Wan! I could have killed you!”

“And I was going to let you,” Obi-Wan said, his voice gentle. “Anakin, I did that to you once, and it broke me. I do not have it within me to hurt you like that again.”

“You dream about it a lot, don’t you?” Anakin asked, dry-mouthed. “About letting Vader kill you.”

Obi-Wan smiled, but it just made him look sad. “Often.”

“Well, stop that. Stop letting him,” Anakin said, resisting the urge to shake some damned sense into his Master. “It’s stupid and it won’t fix anything.”

Obi-Wan looked away. “I’ve never said it before, and I should have. I am so sorry, Anakin.”

“Pretty sure I was the one trying to kill you,” Anakin said. “But I do, you know—forgive you, I mean.” That got Obi-Wan to turn back to him. “I’m sorry, too. I don’t know yet what I could have done differently to avoid getting skull-fucked by Sidious, but…if I knew, if it happened again, I’d avoid it.” Anakin winced. “That’s one of the most awkward things I’ve ever said, and I’ve tried to flirt using sand euphemisms.”

Both of Obi-Wan’s eyebrows went up. “Sand?”

“Yeah, it was dumb. It’s a really good idea not to ask for an explanation of that one.” Anakin stood up, helping Obi-Wan to his feet as he did so.

Obi-Wan swore under his breath, holding his arm to his chest. “Give me a moment, I need to…” Obi-Wan made a gesture with his hand, one that Anakin somehow managed to interpret as the need for pain displacement.

“You should have this back,” Anakin said, passing over Obi-Wan’s lightsaber when Obi-Wan’s posture relaxed, some of the strain easing from his face.

“Thanks.” Obi-Wan glanced up, taking in his surroundings. His expression went from curious to annoyed to absolutely sour in the space of seconds. “Of course.”

“What?” Anakin asked, stuffing the flex-pad comm into an empty belt pouch. “It’s just a cave.”

“It’s not just any cave,” Obi-Wan replied. “I’ve been here before, a long time ago—the first time we were on Mortis.”

“Lousy visit?” Anakin regarded him curiously. This was an improvement over Obi-Wan not remembering Mortis at all, but he didn’t think Obi-Wan was all that happy about having those memories back.

It was also really, really damned weird to be taller than Obi-Wan again.

Obi-Wan’s smile was lopsided, but at least this time it was no longer marred by grief. “You could put it that way, yes.”

Anakin pointed out something he hadn’t noticed before. “Looks like the tunnel goes that way.”

Obi-Wan looked in that direction, observing the gaping tunnel mouth. “Should we keep going?”

“No, we should try to carve our way out of this place vertically,” Anakin grumbled. “Don’t think we have much choice, though.”

“No, probably not,” Obi-Wan agreed, but he was staring around at the cavern again, a strange look on his face.

“Master?”

“What _is_ it about this cave?” Obi-Wan muttered under his breath. “Never mind. Let’s just go.”

Anakin smiled. “Here’s hoping this stupid Well doesn’t dump us right back into the middle of something again. That sucked.”

“If that is exactly what happens next, I’m blaming you.”

 

*          *          *          *

 

Rillian read the note with her nose scrunched up. Then she handed it back to him, a thoughtful expression on her face.

“What is it, Padawan?” Qui-Gon asked. He wasn’t certain if her lack of dramatic response was reassuring or concerning.

[I’m just glad that I’m not going to be the only person who talked to themselves today,] Rillian said. [At least you just got a note.]

That explained some of Rillian’s upset when she had come out of the Temple of Song. “What did you have to say to yourself, Padawan?”

The question broke through some of her equanimity. Rillian glanced away, ducking her head. [She said that I was going to lose you both before my Knighting. You and Master Obi-Wan.]

Qui-Gon had a heart-stopping moment when he thought the worst, a reaction fueled by his recent encounter with a Force ghost. “It was that wording exactly, Rillian?”

[Yes.] Rillian sniffed and wiped her nose with her hand. [What do you think, Master?]

“I think that Raallandirr the Jedi Knight was being sneaky.”

Rillian looked up at him, eyes widening. [Sneaky?]

“Death is usually a certain, specific event, but loss? Rillian, that could mean a great many things, and death is only one of them,” Qui-Gon said. He thought of Obi-Wan standing in that cave, using the nexus of Mortis to speak to him at the only point in time he knew their paths would converge. “Or perhaps it’s exactly as you interpreted it, but right now it is only possibility, Padawan.”

Rillian frowned. [But she sounded so certain.]

“Mortis is a wellspring, which means that it is also a nexus of possibility. What we’ve seen here does not have to become certainty.”

“And some things are certain because they’ve already happened,” Qel-Droma said, but he didn’t look pleased. “Are you sure about this, Ra’um-Ve? Fucking around with consciousness like this is dangerous.”

“I’m aware of the fact that it’s dangerous,” Ra’um-Ve replied, unruffled by Qel-Droma’s concern. “That’s why it’s a download of memory that has already happened.”

Qel-Droma hadn’t been expecting that. “Wait—what?”

Ra’um-Ve looked at Qui-Gon. “You’ve had memory flashes here, haven’t you? Voices or imagery that you know you hadn’t experienced before.”

Qui-Gon nodded. He’d realized after reading the note that the two must have been related. “I have, but this isn’t the first time. I’ve been having flashes of memory via dreams for a long time now, but none of it ever dealt with Mortis.”

The Healer drew her legs up so that she could rest her arms across her knees. “I was trying to restrict things to Mortis only, but memories are tricky. Were those dreams all related to the same experience that Obi-Wan and Anakin had?”

“Yes.” Qui-Gon draped his arm over his Padawan’s shoulders when she scooted in close. “Obi-Wan said two months ago that he had begun to suspect as much—that there was a partial exchange of memory facilitated by the anchor point.”

“Oh, that’s not all it was facilitated by,” Qel-Droma said, smirking. Qui-Gon glanced at him, but refused to take the bait.

“If you’re getting any flashes from that other-when at all, it means that what I did worked.” Ra’um-Ve looked pleased. “It would have taken about a minute to transfer that particular group of memories. I imagine that started the process, which is why you’ve been getting a slow trickle of memory since then.”

[Excuse me, Healer, but when did you do this?] Rillian asked.

Ra’um-Ve smiled, mischief glimmering in her eyes. “Yesterday.”

There had been a chagrined expression on Obi-Wan’s face as he’d said, _And it only just occurs to me that I have no idea how to even begin explaining that_. Qui-Gon suspected he’d just barely begun to understand that statement.

“What do I need to do?” Qui-Gon asked, while Rillian stared at the Healer in astonishment.

“The trigger is a physical object that only exists here on Mortis,” Ra’um-Ve said, expression turning serious as she explained. “It’s the only way I knew how to ensure that you wouldn’t remember any of this before now. If you touch the trigger, it _should_ bring forth all of the memories that I helped you to set aside.”

Ulic started laughing. “It’s that damn rock, isn’t it?”

[Rock?] Rillian repeated, puzzled.

“The one in the library,” Qui-Gon murmured, unsurprised. “What will happen?”

“I have no idea.” The Healer grimaced. “It’s about a month’s worth of memory being reintroduced all at once. It could be as simple as a recollection of a distant event, or the conscious bloom could be strenuous enough to lead to unconsciousness. I’ve never actually done anything like this, Qui-Gon. I’m used to dealing with therapy boxes, not memory sets that cross timelines.”

There was a long, disquieting pause. [Master,] Rillian said, breaking the silence. [If my adult self was real, and she was being sneaky, then she really had to have learned it from you.]

 

*          *          *          *

 

Anakin closed his mother’s unseeing eyes, surprised that his hand was so steady. He put her down onto the ground, taking care that it was a gentle settling.

There was so much in his head, screaming grief and hollow guilt and burning anger and empty loss, a maelstrom of emotion that he didn’t know how to cope with at all.

He locked onto the one emotion he understood, the focus of so much of his Jedi training: Anger.

No. Not anger. This was not a slow burn.

Rage.

How could these people—how could they—how could they hurt—

Anakin climbed to his feet, jaw clenched, and palmed his lightsaber. People wouldn’t do this, not to his mother. These Tuskens…these things… _they weren’t people._

When his lightsaber sliced through the tent wall, the guards standing watch were caught by surprise. Anakin killed them before either could raise their staffs, and looked around for more.

When he was a child, Anakin had sheltered a Tusken, protecting the injured warrior from the threats that abounded during a desert night. Was that same Tusken here? Was this how these things repaid kindness?

There were five more warriors down, five men he didn’t remember killing. Anakin was gasping for air, his arms trembling. There was a flush of heat in his limbs and ice on his skin. He turned and brought his lightsaber down and through another gaderffi staff and the Tusken wielding it.

There were shouts in his ears, the unintelligible roars of Tusken language, threats and screams. Anakin sliced his way into the next tent and raised his lightsaber.

Not warriors. Three tiny…tiny…

Children. Kids.

His arms burned as he held his lightsaber in place.

 _They killed her, they all—they_ all _helped murder her!_

The kids were making frantic, panicked sounds. They were gathering behind a female, who had spread her arms wide while shouting in her own language.

_They’re animals, and I slaughtered them like animals!_

“No,” Anakin whispered. He slowly lowered his blade, only then realizing that his harsh breaths were rasping, horrified sobs. No, not this. Not again.

Anakin shut down his lightsaber and backed out of the tent, almost tripping over the low edge in his rush to get out. He was surrounded by corpses, but no kids, no women. Just the men who had already raised weapons against him.

No more. No more than—no. This isn’t…

“I don’t want this to be me,” Anakin whispered.

Anakin rushed back to the tent he’d come from, ducking inside. His mother wasn’t there in any form, alive or dead. It was such a shock that Anakin fell to his knees, bent over, and vomited up whatever his last meal had been.

When he could breathe without gasping, sobbing, or vomiting again, Anakin cleaned his face with a handful of sand. He got to his feet, forcing his legs to keep him upright when his knees wanted to buckle.

The camp was still in place, with all other bodies, all other Tuskens, as Anakin had left them. They just didn’t seem to be very interested in Anakin.

“They’re afraid of you.”

Anakin turned, relieved to hear Obi-Wan’s voice. Then he took a startled step back. Obi-Wan’s eyes were pale gold, almost as shocking as the weird silver had been when he’d first seen it. They weren’t amber, though, and they weren’t glowing; it was the light from Tatooine’s moons that made it seem so.

“This is Uli-ah set Ka Thak Ta,” Venge said, giving the bodies on the ground a cursory glance. “The Dark Night of the Children of set Ka…and yet, there are startlingly few corpses.”

Anakin felt like he was going to be sick. “They—they’re still dead, some of them. I failed.”

“Failed?” Venge seemed to consider it. “You know, I’ve been studying this recreated camp as you struggled your way through this trial. This is very _odd_ behavior for Tuskens, Anakin. They’ve been known to take prisoners, but they either kill them outright or adopt them. It is one thing to haze new members, and of course the species’ hatred for settlers is often universal, but this sort of torture is not a part of their culture.”

“What does that mean?” Anakin asked, bewildered.

“I don’t know.” Venge glanced down and nudged the nearest corpse with his foot. “And I don’t believe that you failed.”

“But—” Anakin looked around at the five dead men who might have tortured his mother…or maybe not. He had no way to know, then or now. “But I killed them.”

“You were angry at those who harmed your mother, and at least in this instance, managed to contain your rage to those who would have had a hand in it.” Venge looked up at him. “I understand that kind of anger, Padawan. This moment brings you closer to understanding it, too.”

“What good would understanding it do?”

Venge tilted his head. The smile on his face was not cutting, nor a snide expression of disgust or ridicule. It had a measure of peace to it. “If ever you were to face a situation like this again, you would understand the true danger of giving in to your rage, of the destruction that it causes. You would stand in Mastery of yourself, and then do what needed to be done, instead of what you wished to do.”

Anakin swallowed hard. “You said—you said that to me when you told me I was going to be Knighted.”

Venge nodded. “It is still a very good lesson to keep in mind.” Then, to Anakin’s surprise, Venge walked over and hugged him.

Anakin gasped, sniffed back a new flood of tears, and held on. “I don’t want to be anyone else’s Dark Night.”

“If you remember this, and never shy away from the truth of it, you will not be.”

 

*          *          *          *

 

The rock was just where Qui-Gon had seen it last, still holding down a truly magnificent pile of dog-eared paper. He flipped down through the pages without yet touching the stone, bemused by the sight of finding his own handwriting here, as well—and often paired with Obi-Wan’s, as if they were fighting for dominance across the same page.

Qui-Gon turned around to regard the others. Ra’um-Ve was waiting with her arms crossed; Qel-Droma was mirroring her on the other side of the library doorway, a grim set to his mouth.

“Are you always such a cynic?” Qui-Gon asked him, curious.

Something about the question made Ulic’s eyes light up. “Most of the time.”

“Whenever you’re ready, Qui-Gon,” Ra’um-Ve said.

Rillian darted forward and gave Qui-Gon a hug before he could respond. [Be careful, Master.]

“It should be fine, Padawan,” Qui-Gon told her in a low voice. “But if it is not quite fine, you can tell Obi-Wan that I gave him permission to say, ‘I told you so.’”

Rillian chuckled. [Yes, Master.]

Qui-Gon smiled at her, but then his gaze drifted back to the rock. Ra’um-Ve promised him that there would be no long, extended period of unconsciousness, as Obi-Wan and Anakin had suffered from. He believed her, but he still felt…wary.

 _And the only way to find out is to touch the damned thing,_ Qui-Gon told himself, irritated, and then wrapped his fingers around the heavy stone.

For a moment, it seemed as if nothing happened. Then there was a bloom of awareness behind his eyes, and he wasn’t seeing the library walls and the many books, but _I fucked up / Smart kid knew exactly what to do / Balance and acceptance / This is not how things were supposed to happen / Please breathe, Kid / What is this place / Did I hurt anyone / I’m glad you’re here / I always did admire your way with words / Perhaps I just like to look at it / More like fifteen-thousand / He killed them / it is often enough to merely be Dark / you would never have been Knighted / Hello, Master / We almost killed you / You sent us back / Is there no other way / I see we are resorting to blue and creepy / Are you suicidal / It is not always about you / You dropped a fucking cliff on my head / not lost the disturbing habit of doing terrible things to yourself / I don’t want to do this to him / He made me hate you / We’re still doing things backwards / A technologically contained and active wormhole / Please start making sense / You seem to have a thing for broken, sarcastic bastards / I am the revealing fire of light / The Ruusan Reformation wasn’t just a restructuring / Psychological torture we didn’t doubt / there is something I’ll need you to do / I have seen the rise of my Order from the dredges of slavery—_

A month of memory flowed into his thoughts as if it was all happening in one moment. Then came a few pieces more, bits of memory that didn’t belong to Mortis at all, and those tiny fragments were enough to overwhelm him.

 

*          *          *          *

 

“You will not interfere, Lord Vader. Go now.”

“Yes, my Master.” Vader got to his feet after Sidious dismissed him, and did as he was instructed. He stalked through dark halls of black walls, gleaming stone floor, and unfathomable ceiling. He fit in here, his cloaked form almost indistinguishable except for the life support controls that graced the front of his armor.

_You need to go back._

Vader paused at the sound of that voice. He didn’t recognize it at all.

“I must obey my Master.”

 _No, you need to_ save _your Master, you idiot._

Vader scowled, despite the pain it caused him. The scars on his body were unforgiving. “My Master will be fine. He has…I must not interfere.”

He kept walking, irritated now. He must obey his Master. Sidious had been playing games with his prey for many weeks, and Vader knew that something was about to come to fruition.

His Master always got what he wanted.

No. Sidious was not his Master.

Who was his Master, then?

Sidious.

_No._

Who was his Master?

The answer rose up as if it had been lodged in a deep chasm, and a strong wind had finally blown it free: Obi-Wan.

Vader whirled around and rushed back to Sidious’s damned throne room. He could make up for Mustafar. He could help Obi-Wan kill that Sith bastard. Sidious had lied, was lying, he had never been able to save Padmé—

He found Sidious and Obi-Wan engaged in a furious lightsaber duel.

No; that was not quite the right way to describe it. Sidious was not yet fighting at the speed Vader knew him to be capable of. He was less fury and more dark amusement.

Obi-Wan was the one bleeding rage into the Force.

Vader’s breath caught at the sight, and then the suit forced him to breathe again. All those weeks of straddling that edge, as Sidious pushed and prodded at him. All those weeks of Obi-Wan’s grim defiance paired with those frightening, manic smiles. Vader never thought he would see…see…

See Obi-Wan’s eyes shining with that same amber glow that marked Sidious, his teeth bared in a ferocious snarl. What finally served to push his Master over the edge?

Then he spied the body on the floor, and the two red-robed guards waiting next to the corpse with a passive air. Ah; another Jedi felled.

 _Now will you go help him?_ the irritant asked.

You will not stop me, Vader thought, igniting his lightsaber. There was no reply.

Sidious had focused all of his attention on Obi-Wan. When his lightsaber came down on another red blade, he looked up at Vader in almost comical surprise.

“This is not as it should be,” Vader intoned, and shoved the Sith away from Obi-Wan with his considerable, enhanced strength. Then he turned to look at his Master.

Obi-Wan was watching him like a wary, feral animal. His chest was heaving, his lightsaber clutched in a white-knuckled grip. Tears of rage had left visible trails down his face. His eyes blazed in the same way his fury burned in the Force.

Vader could tell that Obi-Wan expected him to continue what was begun on Mustafar. He did not want that. Not any longer. What he accused Obi-Wan of—the betrayal he’d shouted of—that was the charge he should always have laid at Sidious’s feet.

“Master,” he said, while staring into Obi-Wan’s eyes.

Obi-Wan’s lightsaber dipped as Vader’s meaning became clear to him. Then he smiled, but there was nothing joyful in the expression. It was actually more frightening than his earlier mania. “Shall we?”

Vader decided to be concerned about that later. “Yes.”

They turned to face Sidious as if they were two halves of one being.

The memory of Sidious’s damned underground citadel on Coruscant faded the moment they were fighting in sync as a united front against Sidious. When they found themselves in the same luminescent cave again, Venge fell to his knees and Darkness poured forth like a sun going nova.

Anakin held onto his Master from behind as Venge shrieked in thwarted rage and tried to throw himself at nothing. Threads of lightning pierced the gloom and violet sparks filled the air.

It took a long time for Venge to calm down. When he did, it was to slump in Anakin’s arms, gasping for breath as the sparks faded away.

“Obi-Wan?” Anakin ventured.

“Yes,” Obi-Wan said, and then burst into ragged, heaving sobs.

Anakin held onto him, supporting Obi-Wan now instead of just trying to keep his Master from injuring himself. He felt ill. The fallen Jedi, the one Vader had dismissed so callously, had been Jeila Vin—he’d recognized the coral blue of her hair. The damned Well had made Obi-Wan relive the moment when he’d witnessed her tortured to death, over and over again.

Obi-Wan thought that the Well was like the Chamber of Trial in the Temple, but Anakin seriously disagreed. He thought the Well was far more like the Chamber of Trial on Lothal, the one the Council had suggested Obi-Wan take his sixteen-year-old Padawan to if Anakin wanted to earn his Senior Padawan status.

It was one of the very few times he’d seen his Master truly angry. Lothal had a bad habit of killing the Padawans and Masters who went inside. Anakin had earned his Senior status in a different, less fatal manner.

“Do you think I should have taken us to Lothal, anyway?” Obi-Wan asked in a watery voice.

Anakin snorted. “No. I’m sure that the murder-chamber is great for some, but I’ve always been really glad that you never expected me to risk certain death just for the sake of a lesson.”

Obi-Wan reached up and patted Anakin’s arm. The damned burn was back, still glistening with bacta. “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome,” Anakin replied, heaving out a long breath. He was not in any hurry to get up and tackle that dark tunnel again. “If we die here, it’s permanent, isn’t it?”

Obi-Wan nodded. “Yes, but I refuse to be killed by a fucking cave.”

“Yeah, death by partially sentient, programmed pile of rock is not the way I want to go, either.” At least he wasn’t still in that damned suit. Anakin could deal with being twenty-three in these weird random increments, but being forced to wander around the Well in that horrific, mobile, mechanical prison would be more than he could cope with.

“So, you mentioned something about understanding the danger of giving in to rage?”

“I was not actually trying to be a hypocrite,” Obi-Wan said quietly.

“No, no, I didn’t mean that. I just wanted to say that I think I get it now.” Anakin frowned, trying to figure out how to explain. “You going after Sidious isn’t what was wrong with that moment—”

“That is debatable.”

“No, seriously. It’s not wrong to want to get rid of someone evil so that they don’t hurt anyone else. It’s just…” Anakin sighed. “It’s just like the Tuskens, okay? You just can’t lose control to the point that you lose _yourself_ in the process.”

“My wise brother,” Obi-Wan murmured.

“Hey, wisdom acquired via complete stupidity should start to kick in at one point, right?”

 

*          *          *          *

 

Tarkin did not understand. Vader contemplated what that could mean as he allowed the Force to lead him into position.

 _Arrogance,_ he thought, and felt the glorious flush of anger. Tarkin had not suffered any grievous losses in at least a decade, and had grown confident that he was undefeatable.

Fool. Tarkin had only underlings and shielding to protect him from someone’s vengeful blaster fire. He had forgotten what it meant to fear.

Vader was not above reminding him.

Tarkin could claim friendship all he liked, but there was no friendship. Vader only concerned himself with the will of the Emperor…and the Emperor was growing tired of Tarkin’s insistence that he was indispensable.

Kenobi did not disappoint him. He approached quickly, his pace slowing as he realized what awaited him.

“I’ve been waiting for you, Obi-Wan. We meet again, at last.”

Kenobi struck first. Just like a Jedi, Vader thought in contempt as their lightsabers crossed. There was a flash of memory, lava and burning, fire that danced along his nerves just like the pain of betrayal.

“When I left you I was but a learner; now _I_ am the Master.”

“Only a Master of evil, Darth,” Kenobi countered.

Vader had his first true look at Kenobi then, his vision unmarred by memory, and nearly forgot to reply. If not for that fierce, brutal recognition in the Force, Vader would have been convinced that this was a trick. This frail old man was not his Master.

Sidious. Your Master is Sidious.

Vader frowned and ignored the reminder. In this moment, the past was an acceptable thing to contemplate. His vengeance would be meaningless without true recollection.

Kenobi called him Darth. That was…that was _not his name._

Just like that, his wrath returned. “You call me by my title and not my name?” Vader sneered.

“Dark is what it means, and Dark is what you are,” Kenobi said. There was a flash of emotion in his eyes. It was not anger, but sorrow.

Wrath and rage weren’t the same thing, but they were closely related, and it was easy for one to merge into the other. Vader growled and swung at the old man’s head, looking for an easy victory.

Kenobi surprised him by countering again, and again, and again. He never again took the offensive, not after making the first move. Vader felt thwarted, which did not help his control.

“Your powers are weak, old man.”

There was that odd sadness again. As if Kenobi had anything to grieve for, any losses to mourn. “You can’t win, Darth. Strike me down, and I will become more powerful than you can possibly imagine.”

Preposterous.

_Stop it Stop it Stop it Stop it Stop it_

Vader countered another blow, feeling the burn in his limbs. He was not used to dueling any longer. There were no longer plentiful enemies in the galaxy with lightsabers in their hands.

_Stop it!_

Be silent! Vader ordered the voice. He’d conquered it once before, and he would do so again now.

_That is your Master, you ignorant walking scrap heap!_

Damn Kenobi. Vader had relished the silence in his head, and now the silence was broken. “You should not have come back!”

It was infuriating enough that Kenobi only shook his head and said nothing further. Worse was the fact that the old man did not even seem to be paying Vader the full attention he deserved. Much of his focus was elsewhere. Why?

_Because he’s sacrificing himself, you complete fucking disaster._

You will be silent! Vader roared at his own traitorous thoughts. You are dead, and you will remain that way!

Kenobi almost missed a parry, but Vader did not take advantage of it as he should have. Vader found it far more interesting to toy with him. He knew who was going to win this fight.

_More like he’s toying with you._

You know nothing.

_So when you kill him, then what?_

Vader roared and swung, seeing the flinch on Obi-Wan’s face as he held his stance and refused to falter. He had allowed this fight to progress until they were almost upon the hangar bay. Let Kenobi die with freedom in sight.

 _He’s dying._ The voice sounded sad.

Yes, he will die. Very soon.

_Gods, but you are a fucking idiot._

What do you mean?

_Oh, now you’re off-script. It’s about damned time._

YOU WILL EXPLAIN WHAT YOU MEAN.

_See, normally, I would charge in and change this. But this time I don’t think that’s what’s needed. I think your dumb ass needs to make the decision not to swing._

You are a figment. You are a ghost. You are nothing.

_Oh, so that’s where my whiny quality went. Who the hell thought a whiny Sith Lord was a good idea, anyway?_

Vader watched Kenobi raise his lightsaber. That was not the guard position. That was untenable. That was—

—a sacrifice?

Why would he do such a thing?

_I’m not telling you._

You will!

 _Nope. You already know the answer to that question, and anyway, it’s irrelevant. You need to decide based on Obi-Wan, and Obi-Wan alone._ His _why does not matter; yours does._

Vader howled wordless refusal at the unwanted ghost of Anakin Skywalker, and swung his lightsaber.

He did not finish the strike.

Kenobi was going to let him do it. Kenobi was going to let Vader kill him.

I did not expect him to give up, Vader thought.

He had not. Not ever. Obi-Wan never gave up.

Vader had suspected a trick. Vader had stomped on empty robes, searching for what had to have been done. There was no special trap in the floor. No doors. No illusion.

Obi-Wan would not have left his lightsaber behind, no matter what he wished for others to think: _This weapon is your life._

Vader had not expected Obi-Wan to die.

 _It has seen the end of Kenobi, and will soon see the end of the Rebellion._ He’d said that, hadn’t he? Why? What had he been doing?

_What were you doing for twenty years?_

I must obey my Master. I obeyed my Master.

_Sidious is not your Master. He is your enslaver._

I must obey my Master, Vader insisted.

 _What are you—oh._ _Oh, you…you stupid sod._

“You never asked me to come with you!” Vader shouted at that waiting old man, Obi-Wan with his fucking grief and his affection and his love. “You never asked!”

The Well dumped them back into the blue cave. “You never asked,” Anakin whispered. There was an odd feeling in his head, like the fragments that made up Vader were spreading out, shuffling off to return to their original places.

“No, I didn’t,” Obi-Wan said. “I did not make a single attempt.”

“Why?” Anakin asked, stunned. He shouldn’t have been. He’d seen it, hadn’t he?

 _Not all of it,_ he realized.

Obi-Wan sighed. “You already know what grief and rage do to your judgment. Then I went and made it worse.”

The shock was starting to wear off. This wasn’t anything new, it was just…he’d had to confront it from a different angle, that’s all. “You’re talking about how it was your Sacrifice.”

Obi-Wan smiled like old Ben Kenobi had, that sad exhaustion just barely tempered by wry amusement. “A Sacrifice has to be a conscious choice. I left you on the hillside to burn to death. Not quite the act of a Jedi, is it?”

“No, not…not really,” Anakin admitted, his thoughts churning as it seized on that idea. “Then—”

Anakin realized he was staring at the cave wall with his jaw hanging open. “It was _then?_ That was years before!”

Obi-Wan rested a hand on his arm. “Say it, Anakin. I know you’ve found your way there.”

“My Sacrifice wasn’t Master Windu,” Anakin said in a low voice. “It was the Children of set Ka. The Tuskens. That was a conscious choice.”

“And Master Windu?”

Anakin frowned. “I wasn’t trying to _kill_ him. I was trying to _stop_ him. If I’d actually wanted him dead, I wouldn’t have disarmed him, I would have shoved my lightsaber into his heart while he was distracted.”

“That is Vader’s ruthlessness talking. That’s a singular aspect, right there,” Obi-Wan pointed out. “There is something else, too.”

Anakin was biting his lip, staring at the cave floor as he tried to concentrate. It was damned hard to puzzle his way through the haze that surrounded Mace Windu’s death, especially with the blackout that came soon after.

_No, I need him!_

“That’s Vader,” Anakin murmured, finding the dividing line in his thoughts. “There are two different actions and decisions happening in my head at once, right in that moment.” He lifted his head and looked at Obi-Wan. “There’s me, thinking politics and what would happen if Mace actually killed Palpatine in his own office, and the way the entire Republic would be screaming for Jedi blood, and just—Mace was enraged, too, and I don’t think the _vapaad_ was giving him enough room to channel it all. I just wanted to stop him, and so I did the only thing I could think of. But there’s also this…”

Anakin’s frown deepened as he tried to figure out how to explain. “Take anger and fear and greed, ball it all up together, and then teach it to talk. Vader wasn’t thinking about anyone but himself. He wanted Palpatine alive because Palpatine told him he could stop people from dying, and I was—”

Oh, Anakin thought, startled and unsettled. He’d never told anyone outside of Padmé and Yoda about his dreams of Padmé dying. Padmé hadn’t been concerned; Yoda told him to let go of his fear of loss.

Like it was that fucking easy.

He didn’t even realize he’d spoken aloud until Obi-Wan said, “It does seem easy, after you’ve lived for hundreds of years. Yoda got used to the idea that people die, no matter how much you love them.”

“That wasn’t useful to me. He wanted me to just flip a damned switch,” Anakin snapped, and then winced. “Sorry.”

Obi-Wan waved off the apology. “What you’re saying was that there was no singular moment. Vader was already forming.”

“I think that moment…I think that broke the final strand,” Anakin said, “given how quickly everything fell apart afterwards. I think Sidious was working on breaking my Lifebond with Padmé from the moment we found him on the _Invisible Hand._

“When we got back down to the surface, after you left, Padmé found me. All she said was that she had something she needed to tell me, and I immediately accused her of sleeping with someone else.” Anakin shook his head. “Which was ridiculous, but I still said it, and to be honest I couldn’t even tell you why. The whole time, from that moment until Sidious decimated the Council, it was like we were speaking different languages. We assumed it was from being separated for so long—her in the Senate and me out on the Rim for almost eight damned months during the Sieges.”

“But it wasn’t,” Obi-Wan said quietly.

“No.” Anakin swallowed, trying not to let old grief consume him. “It wasn’t that at all.”

_Gods, Padmé, I am so sorry._

“There is one more thing.” Obi-Wan grimaced. “Oh, I do not want to say these words aloud.”

“Well, that’s auspicious,” Anakin said, trying to smile. “Might as well say it now, while I’m still reeling.”

Obi-Wan didn’t seem encouraged by that, but he spoke anyway. “About Mustafar, Anakin: I did not go there expecting to be the one to walk away.”

 

*          *          *          *

 

When Qui-Gon blinked his eyes open, he was lying on the library floor with Ra’um-Ve bent over him. The Healer’s cool fingertips were at his temples, soothing neural pathways.

[You passed out,] Rillian told him, patting Qui-Gon’s hand.

“I’d gathered that, yes,” Qui-Gon said, swallowing back dryness when his voice emerged as a rasp. “How long?”

[Just a couple of minutes,] Rillian said. [You’re all right?]

“I believe so, though I’m not against waiting for Ra’um-Ve to confirm it.”

“Two minutes, Qui-Gon,” Ra’um-Ve muttered in response. “Just making sure you’re not going to pay for this later.”

Rillian smiled. [And then what?]

“Padawan, then I am going to meditate until it feels less like my head is going to explode.”

 

*          *          *          *

 

Obi-Wan never told Anakin anything about his last trip to Mandalore. Not anything beyond the basics, anyway—Satine Kryz was dead, Mandalore’s government was a shambles, and Death Watch didn’t have enough members left to be a group at all anymore.

As far as basic information went, Anakin had figured that was specific enough. It certainly gave the impression of not having been a fun trip. He’d felt guilty about all the girlfriend cracks, too. They’d just seemed so damned petty afterwards.

It wasn’t much of a surprise to find himself in the capitol building in Sundari. Nor was it a surprise to see Maul, his brother Savage, the former Prime Minister Almec (who the hell let him out of prison?) and a slew of armored Mandalorians from Death Watch, all of them keeping Obi-Wan and the Duchess under guard while Maul went off on his little spiel about revenge and pain. Anakin didn’t see Vizsla anywhere, which was odd.

No, wait, never mind—Maul was waving the darksaber around that Obi-Wan had told him about. That explained that.

Anakin made a face. He didn’t want to have to thank Maul for anything.

The moment Maul threatened Satine with the darksaber, Anakin winced and almost wanted to cover his face with his hands. He was glad he didn’t; he would have missed Obi-Wan ripping Savage’s lightsaber away from him. The ignited blade sliced the Zabrak in half before Obi-Wan caught the lightsaber and used it to defend Satine from Maul.

 _Yes! Kick his ass, Master,_ Anakin thought, watching the fight play out. Death Watch didn’t seem inclined to interfere, nobody was bothering Satine, and everyone else was too dead to be a concern.

Maul might have been magicked together by whatever Mother Talzin did, but when Obi-Wan really let go, he was the better fighter. Vader had learned that lesson the hard way, as had Sidious, Grievous, and a whole host of other assholes over the years.

Anakin did flinch when Maul was sliced in half diagonally, waist to neck. Maul was dead before both parts of his body thumped down onto the floor.

“Heal from _that,_ ” Obi-Wan spat, and then turned his attention to Death Watch. “Anyone else?”

“I don’t get it,” Anakin said, as Death Watch started consulting among themselves. If Maul killed Pre Vizsla and Obi-Wan killed Maul, he was technically leader, and the Mandalorians did _not_ seem to know what to do with that idea.

“Get what?” Obi-Wan was facing away from him, head lowed and shoulders bowed. The tip of Savage’s lightsaber blade was burning a hole in the floor.

“Well…what’s the conflict here?” Anakin asked, giving Death Watch another glance. No, still no decision yet. “I mean, it would have been nice if Maul had actually died during this fight—”

“There wasn’t a fight.”

Anakin had a moment where he was certain he hadn’t heard that right. “What? What do mean, there wasn’t a fight?”

“Exactly that. I didn’t fight Maul. I didn’t…” Obi-Wan seemed to be struggling. “I did nothing.”

Anakin was so shocked by the idea that he barely noticed when Mandalore vanished and the cave surrounded them. “I—what did happen?”

“It began the way you saw,” Obi-Wan said. His gaze was distant and remote, the look of a Jedi emotionally separating himself from a situation in order to speak of it. “But I couldn’t—I couldn’t think of anything to do that didn’t mean giving in to anger. Every idea I thought of hinged on making use of anger and frustration, even my fear for Satine. So in the end, I held to my vows as a Jedi, and she died.”

Obi-Wan met Anakin’s eyes. There was none of that emotional distance now, but the grief was marred by shining gold. “It was the wrong choice.”

“But, Obi-Wan, you were acting like a Jedi—” Anakin tried to say, but Obi-Wan cut him off.

“I put myself above the needs of others. That isn’t the way of the Jedi. That is fucking cowardice.” Obi-Wan swallowed and wiped at his eyes. “A Jedi would have acted. I did _nothing_. Satine died, Mandalore’s infrastructure crumbled, and that entire region of space fell apart in less than a month. When the Empire came along and offered them membership, the Mandalorians jumped at the chance for order to be restored, even though the Empire represented everything the new Mandalorians loathed.”

“I am about to say something you’re not gonna like.” Anakin almost took a step back when Obi-Wan turned his head and glared. That wasn’t Venge, not quite, but it was still unsettling to be subjected to such intense focus.

“Go on.”

“The kind of Jedi you and I lived and worked with?” Anakin clenched his jaw. “They wouldn’t have done anything—no, you listen to me, dammit,” he said, when Obi-Wan opened his mouth to argue. “They would have done just as you did. A Jedi Master of our generation would have stood back, watched Satine and everyone else die, called it the will of the Force, and gone on with their fucking day, content in the knowledge that at least they didn’t lose their temper with the Sith.

“You didn’t come back looking content with your decision, Obi-Wan. You came back looking gutted and raw and _bleeding_.” Anakin glared right back at him. “Maybe you made the wrong choice, but at least you were capable of _recognizing_ that it was wrong.”

Obi-Wan was shaking his head. “Qui-Gon wouldn’t have done that.”

“Yeah, well, Qui-Gon is also a rogue that doesn’t know how to take no for an answer, which pisses off everyone else,” Anakin said, and was relieved when Obi-Wan smiled.

 

*          *          *          *

 

Obi-Wan was staring through the red ray shields blocking the final exit into the melting pit chamber. Maul glared back at him, lips raised in a snarl that was also a snide, malicious smile.

 _You are a dead man,_ Obi-Wan thought.

Maul spun his lightstaff in a display of perfect confidence. “Come and get me, then.”

Obi-Wan tilted his head. “Okay.” He raised his hand and poured Force Lightning through the shielded barrier. The blast struck Maul in the chest and flung him backwards—directly into the melting pit.

The Well dumped him right back into the luminescent cave. Obi-Wan wasn’t sure if that meant he’d passed or failed, but Anakin was bent over and howling with laughter.

“What is your problem?” Obi-Wan asked, rubbing his trousers to try and dispatch the lingering feel of electricity from his fingertips.

“That was—that was so cheating,” Anakin gasped out, resting his hands on his knees and trying to breathe.

“It was not.” Obi-Wan smiled. “Besides, he did ask for it.”

 

*          *          *          *

 

Anakin and Obi-Wan were starting to get used to the ebb and flow of the Well. It was Obi-Wan who realized that it was less “every stupid thing they had ever done” and far more about confronting events that neither of them had made peace with. Unfortunately, that was a long list—particularly in Vader’s case.

Sometimes he was in the suit, Vader foremost in his thoughts. Other times, the Well showed Anakin things that Vader had done, but it was like watching a holovid unfold. Anakin didn’t understand the difference, and said so.

“I don’t know, Anakin,” Obi-Wan said, keeping Anakin’s hand in a firm grip to keep Anakin from dashing over and trying to kill the black-armored version of himself. “Perhaps the times when you confront it directly are the times you were closer to the surface of his thoughts?”

Anakin frowned. “Maybe,” he said, as the latest simulation faded. He was glad to see it go. He hadn’t remembered Kessel before; seeing Vader slaughter Bultar Swan and Tsui Choi’s group of hiding Jedi hadn’t….it hadn’t helped.

Especially since Vader had been screaming for Obi-Wan’s blood the entire time.

“Is there a point to it showing me things I didn’t remember?” Anakin wondered, sitting down on a rock in the cave. “I’m kind of back to the point of thinking that falling on my lightsaber would be easier than this.”

Obi-Wan sat down next to him. His shoulders were drooping, as if the revelations of the Well were weighing on him just as heavily. “I would guess that it’s trying to impart an awareness of your own potential.”

“My potential?” Anakin gave him a frustrated look.

Obi-Wan nodded. “Vader was a construct created by another, but he was still built from pieces of your own psyche.”

“You mean that these are things I could have chosen to do, even without Palpatine’s manipulations.” As if the Well was pointing out that he was responsible for his own actions, but only his own _potential_ for those actions where much of Vader’s existence was concerned.

“Yes,” Obi-Wan said, “but that is a concept that we all must face, not just you.”

“Yeah, but most people don’t get a lot of vivid examples of why you shouldn’t be an asshole shoved in their faces,” Anakin pointed out, resting his chin on his clasped hands.

“What is it?” Obi-Wan asked.

“If this thing is about confronting bad choices and trying to…to learn from them, or not repeat them—why haven’t we seen the Temple slaughter?” Anakin swallowed. “That’s one of the worst things Vader ever did. Why isn’t it _here?_ ”

Obi-Wan’s brow furrowed as he considered it. “Aside from the fact that I have no wish to view those events ever again…I’m not sure. Perhaps the Well recognizes that it’s something you would not have done if your Fall had been entirely of your own making.”

Anakin dropped his hands, lifting his head. “Maybe it wasn’t even Vader at all, then,” he said, a cold chill racing through his limbs.

Obi-Wan was shaking his head. “I saw the security recordings, Anakin.”

“No, I don’t mean that. I mean—if even Vader wouldn’t have made that decision on his own…well, who did?”

Obi-Wan’s eyes flared brilliant gold. “You mean string-pulling. Puppetry.”

Anakin felt like he was going to be sick again, and he’d thrown up several times already as the Trial progressed. “I don’t _remember_ it, at all. That hasn’t stopped the Well from showing me other things that I don’t remember.”

Venge looked at him. “You are not just basing this idea upon that alone.”

“No.” Anakin pressed his lips together. “In my head, there’s this…gap. There’s nothing in my memories from the time Master Windu gets thrown through the window by Palpatine, and it doesn’t pick up again until we’re mid-fight on Mustafar.

“When the Well showed us Mustafar, did you see the fight from the start?”

Venge nodded. “I did—the entire fucking thing. You did not?”

“No, I only really started to recognize what was going on when we wound up trying to kill each other while swinging over lava. That was insane, by the way,” Anakin added.

“It was, yes.” Venge smiled. Anakin could tell now when it was Obi-Wan’s Sith aspect; there was far too much manic humor lurking in his eyes. The smile just made it more obvious.

“Vader’s memories never really get consistent until after the mask goes on. If that first gap never gets filled in—if the Well never shows me anything that happened—then maybe those weren’t my decisions at all. Maybe Vader was still a work in process.”

“What frightens me is the fact that I think you’re right.”

 

*          *          *          *

 

Anakin stared at the T’surr male in complete consternation. Krayn was taunting him and egging Anakin on, trying to…to scare him? Convince Anakin to kill him?

 _Or maybe he was just stupid,_ Anakin thought.

“I don’t actually know what to do here. No, I’m not talking to you, shut up,” Anakin said, when the slaver tried to give voice to more ridiculous diatribes.

“What do you mean?”

Anakin glanced over at Obi-Wan, who was standing a few paces away with his arms crossed. They were always together in these simulations, but sometimes they couldn’t see each other at all, or they couldn’t see each other until one of them spoke.

“Well, we’re not executioners and I know that,” Anakin said, “but we also found out after I killed Krayn that the political situation regarding this mission had collapsed. Even if we brought him in, the Senate would let him walk because they don’t think he’s useful anymore.”

Anakin sighed and lowered his lightsaber. Standing in the rain had brought back how much he had both loved and loathed this mission. He’d loved it because they had done real good—freed a number of slaves and ended an entire slavery ring. He loathed it because he’d been such a damned disappointment to his Master when Anakin wasn’t able to resist killing Krayn in the first place. “Obi-Wan, what do I do with this asshole?”

“I don’t know, toss him over the side of the platform?”

Anakin turned his head to stare at his Master in consternation. “Obi-Wan!”

“Look, I have no idea,” Obi-Wan said, after wiping rain from his face with both hands. “If the Well gave me a simulation of Tarkin right now I would probably slice the bastard in half and giggle about it.”

Anakin froze Krayn in place, leaving the slaver to glare at him in silent anger. “You’re getting tired too, huh?”

Obi-Wan nodded. “I’m exhausted. However, I don’t think naps are part of the Well’s programming.”

Anakin considered it. “Well, maybe we can just chain this guy in place to freeze the simulation, and wander off to find a berth?”

No sooner had the words left his mouth, they were standing in the cave again. “Hey!”

Obi-Wan sat down on one of the rocks and sighed. “I don’t think it likes to be circumvented.”

Anakin slumped down next to him. “No, I guess not. Maybe we can nap here?”

“I do not want to sleep inside the partially sentient pile of rocks, Anakin.” Obi-Wan rested his head on Anakin’s shoulder. “How long have we been down here, anyway?”

Anakin tapped the flex-pad comm on his arm to bring up the display. “Uh, according to this, we have been here for negative twelve hours and thirty-eight degrees.”

Obi-Wan let out a brief laugh. “There is no time.”

“I dunno, that was pretty damn specific,” Anakin said, prodding the display again. It steadfastly refused to give him anything that made sense.

“How do you feel, Anakin?” Obi-Wan asked.

Anakin turned off the comm’s display. “Tired. Wrung out. Emotionally hammered. Surprisingly not that bad, all things considered. You?”

“About the same, but add on the desire to drink heavily,” Obi-Wan said in a wry voice. “Let’s just go.”

“Yeah?” Anakin stood up when Obi-Wan did, glancing doubtfully at the tunnel mouth. “You’re sure?”

“We can go on, or we can sit here and molder. I’d rather walk to my death, not get turned into bioluminescent cave moss.”

When put that way, Anakin could see his point. “You’re right. Let’s go.”

To Anakin’s surprise, the tunnel didn’t turn pitch black and then dump them somewhere else. What light there was remained steady, which meant it was bright enough for Anakin to make out the outline of his hand in front of his face, but not much else.

“You still with me?”

Obi-Wan’s hand yanked at the back of Anakin’s tunics. “Still here.”

“Do you think maybe the Well is done with us?” Anakin asked, trying to figure out if there was light ahead or if it was just wishful thinking.

“That would be nice,” Obi-Wan muttered. “I think we’re honestly running out of things it could rub our noses in.”

 _Or maybe it’s because we were together._ Anakin didn’t remember a lot, but even he knew that there were still plenty of other Vader-instances the Well could have thrown at him. It would have been a hell of a disparity, though; Anakin had a quarter-century of Sith to draw from versus Obi-Wan’s span of months.

Anakin found himself smiling. Obi-Wan hadn’t needed twenty-five years to become a better Sith than Vader had ever imagined.

“Relative terms, Anakin.”

“That, too,” Anakin replied.

It really was light ahead. Anakin quickened his steps while keeping his senses alert for tripping stones and pitfalls. Obi-Wan was a whisper of cloth and the faintest hint of booted feet behind him, keeping his presence muffled while Anakin drew the most attention, became the most obvious target.

Some habits died hard.

The tunnel opened up into another cavern. This one was smaller than the blue rest-cavern for the Well, and filled with pale green light.

“Shit,” Anakin said, staring up at the floating specter in dismay. “Daughter.”

Daughter smiled at him, as serene in death as she had once been in life. She looked exactly the same, except the transparency was a big hint. “Hello, Anakin Skywalker, Obi-Wan Kenobi. Or do you desire I call you by other names?”

“That will really not be necessary,” Obi-Wan said, standing at Anakin’s side. “Hello, Emmaltine.”

The green-haired ghost seemed confused for a moment. “Oh! Yes. That was my name once, wasn’t it?”

“Obi-Wan?”

“She isn’t part of the Well, or the Trial,” Obi-Wan answered him.

“That last part is debatable, Obi-Wan,” Daughter—Emmaltine—said, her eyes narrowing with concern. “You are still within the Well, though on its outermost confines. I was able to appear to you here because I convinced the Well that I would present you with one more obstacle to face.”

“Oh, great,” Anakin said, scowling. “It’s a partially sentient and _stupid_ pile of rocks.”

“Anakin,” Obi-Wan cautioned him, and then glanced up at Emmaltine. “Is this about Entroija?”

Emmaltine saddened, and the light in the cave dimmed. “No, Obi-Wan. There is no ill will between us regarding my brother. His fate was of his own making. I grieve for him, but I do not blame you for what you did to defend yourself.”

Anakin glanced at him, baffled. _Later,_ Obi-Wan sent.

 _Okay, then_ , Anakin thought, and turned his attention back to the floating dead woman. “If this isn’t about whatever you guys are talking about, then what _do_ you want?”

“I wish to give you a gift,” Emmaltine said, her expression brightening at the same time as the cave light did.

“What sort of gift?” Anakin asked, suspicious. “I mean, your last gift to us was nice and all, since it meant my Padawan didn’t die, but you and your family have a really bad track record when it comes to doing nice things for people.”

“I wish to give you…I believe the current term for it is called ‘closure.’”

“Closure?” Anakin repeated, trying to figure out why they needed a door.

Obi-Wan’s eyes widened. “Oh, no, thank you, that will _not_ be necessary.”

Emmaltine’s brows rose, as haughty as Father had been. “I am afraid you have no choice.”

“Okay, what are we talking about?” Anakin asked, picking up on Obi-Wan’s apprehension. “Why is this a bad thing?”

“Closure as in psychology, Anakin,” Obi-Wan said in a low voice. “Emotional closure.”

“What? But we just did that!”

“Emmaltine, it doesn’t matter what you believe about choice. We’re saying _no_ ,” Obi-Wan said, the first hint of anger in his voice. Anakin could feel something crawly, then, like a thousand tiny filaments were crossing over his body.

 _Weaving,_ Anakin thought, recognizing Obi-Wan’s signature in the threads. _Neat_.

Emmaltine didn’t seem to care whether they said no, yes, or anything in between. “There is only one problem,” she mused, as her hands began dancing through the air as if she were playing an invisible instrument. “I do not yet know how you will return.”

“That’s exactly why we’re saying no!” Obi-Wan shouted, as the sense of those many filaments increased and tightened. “Dammit, Emmaltine, you cannot!”

Emmaltine smiled. “I am certain you will be able to figure it out. Please enjoy your gift.”

“No—” Obi-Wan was shouting, and then Anakin felt all of the filaments tear and break, brushed aside like they were nothing. Then there was darkness. No light. No sound.

Everything came back in a rush as Anakin hit the ground, hard. He blinked and found his nose shoved into a patch of grass that smelled like fruit and acid. Ew.

Anakin pushed himself up onto his hands and knees. His arm was still leather-wrapped and braced, which meant…what, exactly? At this point, Anakin didn’t know if they were in the Well, still on Mortis, or halfway across the galaxy.

“Obi-Wan?” he called, alarmed when there was no response. He sat up and found himself in a forest full of plant life he didn’t recognize. Anakin had been to a lot of planets, but all of this was new.

 _Obi-Wan?_ Anakin reached out through the training bond, which felt…springier? That was weird, and worse, there was no answer—just a vague impression of unconscious thought.

Anakin tried to stand up and went right back down onto his knees as his head protested the movement. “Ugh.” If he’d felt wrung out before, well, now he felt like he’d been pressed on a conveyer belt and kicked in the skull for good measure.

Then a violet-bladed lightsaber appeared right in front of his nose. “Aw, shit,” Anakin muttered, and slowly raised his hands.

 

*          *          *          *

 

Obi-Wan felt every single one of his created threads tear as Emmaltine overrode them— _how, dammit!_ —and then there was absolute darkness. There was no sound, not even the whirl of a breeze in his ears.

He had just enough time to realize that he was falling toward the ground. Instead of breaking half of his limbs in a bad fall, he tucked and rolled down a grassy slope.

“Fuck,” he hissed, clutching his right arm to his chest when he finally came to a halt. Every single stick and rock had just made itself known, scraping across too-sensitive skin.

Obi-Wan glanced around. Unfamiliar plant life, trees, no recognizable structures—he only noticed the spiked fist in time for it to strike his head, and everything went black.

 

*          *          *          *

 

_Qui-Gon knew the look on Ulic’s face. “Did you find a problem?”_

_Ulic sighed. “Unfortunately. When you go back where you belong, there is something I’ll need you to do.”_

_Qui-Gon listened as Ulic described what he’d seen. “Emmaltine did_ what? _”_

_Ulic grimaced. “Yeah, I know. There wasn’t a damned way to keep her from doing it, not with the way she’d positioned herself in the Well.”_

_“Ulic—”_

_“Relax, it’s just temporary. They do figure out how to get back here,” Ulic said._

_“How?” Qui-Gon asked, and then it occurred to him. “That is your thing I need to do?”_

_Ulic smiled. “Well, you are in the unique position to be an accessible resource. I just don’t know_ when _she put them, Qui-Gon.” The smile faded, frustration taking its place. “All I know is that they’re no longer in this branch of the path.”_

 _Qui-Gon buried his face in his hands. “Dammit. Ulic, that isn’t the only problem. There is a reason I chose the method I did. Traveling through time in a physical body is not_ _safe.”_

_“No,” Ulic agreed. “You’re going to have to tell them how to get back here without making themselves dead.”_

_“I’m not even sure if I know how to do that.” Qui-Gon dropped his hands. “Did she say anything else? Anything useful?”_

_Ulic thought about it. “She called it closure. Does that help?”_

_Qui-Gon frowned. “It might. It gives me a clearer idea of where to begin looking, at least.”_

[Master?]

Qui-Gon shook his head and blinked several times, rousing himself from contemplation of the memory. “What is it, Padawan?”

Rillian regarded him, curious, worried, puzzled, and yet still trying to smile. He found himself amazed all over again by her presence, and now it was for yet another reason entirely.

[Well, there is apparently…dinner.] Rillian wrinkled her nose. [As in, there is random appearing food on the table. Master Ulic and Healer Rava don’t seem bothered by it, but…random appearing food.]

“If I have this right, then there is actually a simple, straightforward explanation for it, if not an easily believable one,” Qui-Gon said, dropping his head back and attempting to stretch kinks out of his neck.

[Okay,] Rillian said doubtfully. [Are you coming to dinner?]

“I’ll be there in a moment, Rillian. Go ahead. Pester Ulic into explaining it, if I take too long.”

Rillian looked perplexed. [You called him Ulic. That’s a first.]

Qui-Gon sighed and resisted the urge to cover his face with his hands. “Yes and no. Go ahead. I’ll be along.”

[Okay.] Rillian exited the room, but only after treating him to another curious look.

 _What’s the holdup?_ Ulic asked him. That was another thing that was and yet was not a first-time event.

 _I’m just waiting for the break,_ Qui-Gon replied, and then bent over double as it struck all at once. He gritted his teeth together as the Lifebond felt like it was wrenched and stretched to the breaking point.

_Wellspring. Hold together. Possibility. Please!_

After a long moment in which his heart pounded and Qui-Gon forgot to breathe, the terrible pull diminished. The Lifebond snapped back into place like an elasticized cord. There were glowing bright spots of damage, but it was otherwise intact.

He could hear an echo of Rillian’s distressed howl. It was accompanied by the fleeting knowledge that Ra’um-Ve was sitting with her through what would have been a moment’s discomfort as her two training bonds suffered the same intense pull.

Qui-Gon slumped over until his forehead was resting on the floor, his hair sliding forward to curtain his face. Forewarning had not made that moment any less distressing.

_Gods all, Obi-Wan. I hope you and Anakin are all right._


End file.
